


Traditions

by ch63



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-25
Updated: 2006-02-25
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:23:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8065288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ch63/pseuds/ch63
Summary: Malcolm plans to remain true to his heritage. Set mid-Season 2. (10/06/2005)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

Trip Tucker left Enterprise's mess hall whistling happily to himself and trying to decide which shirt to wear later that evening. It was Thursday, which meant he got to spend the evening with Malcolm, reviewing reports and checking out new developments in the engineering journals, or, as Hoshi had recently put it "Gossiping like a little old lady and ogling Malcolm when you think he isn't looking." Although it wasn't as if he was the only person on the ship to engage in the latter activity. Nope, Trip reckoned he could probably drum up a healthy membership for "Reed-Watchers Anonymous" if he'd cared to try.

As if thinking about Hoshi had somehow summoned her, she came hurrying down the corridor towards him, looking worried.

"What's up?" he asked, fearing a catastrophe in engineering that would rob him of his time with Malcolm. "Don't tell me the antimatter injectors are acting up again?"

"Not as far as I know Commander," She was still on duty, so gave him his formal title. "It's just that..."

"Dammit, not the plasma regulators! I got them running perfectly yesterday, I know I did!"

"I'm sure you did, sir." Hoshi said, patiently, "It's not that, I just wanted to tell you..."

"Hell. It's the impulse reactor, ain't it? I _knew_ there was something screwy with the way it was..."

"Sir! Will you please just let me tell you this? Which, incidentally, I shouldn't be telling you at all, but I thought you might appreciate a little advance warning."

Trip subsided, abashed. "Sorry Hoshi. What is it?"

"Malcolm had a letter today. From his father."

"Shoot."

"Too good for the old swine if you ask me." Hoshi's expression made her distaste for Stuart Reed all too plain.

"Hoshi! Don't tell me you read Malcolm's letter!"

She gave him a severe look.

"Of _course_ not. I didn't need to. The look on Malcolm's face when I gave it to him was enough to make me want to kill the old bastard." The look on her face was enough to make Trip very glad it wasn't aimed at him.

Damn. So much for his sociable evening with Malcolm. The last time the armory officer had had a letter from his father he'd spent two weeks barely speaking to anybody. Except Porthos. If that dog could talk...he wouldn't say a damn word, probably, as he was nearly as besotted with Malcolm as Trip was.

"Thanks for the heads-up Hoshi." Trip "Guess I'll go see if I can cheer him up any."

Hoshi snorted.

"Good luck." she said, in a tone that implied that he'd need it, and then some.

* * *

In view of this, Trip was surprised, on pressing the door buzzer to Malcolm's quarters, to be greeted with a relatively cheery "Come in!"

Things became a lot clearer when he did so and immediately spotted the nearly empty bottle on Malcolm's desk.

"Malcolm? Are you okay?" He realised it was a stupid question before he'd even finished asking it.

Malcolm blinked owlishly at him. "Therfectly, pank you." he said, with such immense seriousness, that it was all Trip could do not to snigger. Only the knowledge that Malcolm must have been deeply upset to have allowed himself to drink this much stopped him. Now, how to get Malcolm to talk to him, without admitting that he already knew about the letter?

"Hoshi tell you I'd had a lettuce...lattice... _letter_ from Old Grumpy, did she?" Malcolm enquired, conversationally.

Ah. So much for sublety then. Just as well, Trip reflected. If he was honest, he'd never exactly been King Subtle of the Subtle People anyhow.

"Yeah. Uh...I don't mean to pry, Malcolm, but...well last time he wrote you, you seemed kinda upset for a while and...well I was worried..." Trip trailed off, his glance flicking to the bottle.

Malcolm followed his look and snorted derisively.

"Don't worry Commander, I'm not in danger of turning into a lunch...lush—just doing what dear ol' Dad wants for once."

Trip frowned, completely lost.

"Your Dad wrote you and asked you to get drunk?" Malcolm's family must be even odder than he'd realised.

Malcolm looked at him as if he'd just suggested using peanut butter to fuel the warp engines.

"Of course not." he replied, in tones of deep derision. " He had his usual rant about my failure to upload...upHOLD the traditions of the Reed family and their "proud naval heritage". Git. Anyway, I decided I'd had enough, so I've just written back to him."

Uh-oh. That didn't sound good. What could Malcolm have said to his father that caused him to dive into a booze bottle immediately afterwards?

"So...ah...what did you say?" Trip asked, doing his best to sound casual and missing by a couple of light-years.

To his surprise Malcolm grinned hugely.

"I reminded him of what a chap called Anthony Montague-Browne once said were the only traditions of the British Navy, and told him not to worry, because I was planning to maintain at least two of the three." He looked up at Trip tipsily. "The rum, " he gestured expansively towards the depleted bottle, " I can manage on my own, but I had quite enough of the lash when I was a boy thank you very much, so I was hoping, " he dropped his gaze, suddenly sounding shy, "that you might be able to help me with the other one..."

Trip had never heard of Anthony Montague-Whatsit, but he thought he had a pretty good idea what Malcolm was talking about. He smiled gently.

"Glad to be of service Loo-tenant. But let's wait until you've sobered up a bit, huh? Just in case you change your mind. Wouldn't be gentlemanly to take advantage of a fellow officer in a drunken state, now would it?"

Malcolm pouted indignantly. "I am _not_ going to change my mind." he announced firmly, getting to his feet. And promptly keeled over sideways, landed half on his bunk with his legs dangling over the edge and began to snore loudly.

Trip shook his head fondly and set about making his friend more comfortable, before settling into the chair to watch over him. It took him a couple of minutes to realise that the tune he was quietly humming to himself was "What Shall We Do With The Drunken Sailor". He definitely had a few ideas on that score. But they could wait, for now.


End file.
